AKA Metamorphosis
by ColorMeNicole
Summary: Two months after the events of The Defenders, Daredevil and Jessica Jones' worlds collide once again when she takes on a new case and gets far more than she bargained for. Rated T for language and mild violence.
1. Chapter 1: Collision Course

After a long day of staking out yet another unfaithful spouse, Jessica throws open the door to find her phone ringing off the hook. She tosses her keys onto the nearest countertop and lunges for the receiver. "Hello? This is Jessica Jones," she says into the phone.

"Hello, Jessica, my name is Richard Jacob," the caller greets. His voice is sharp and business-like.

"And what can I do for you, Mr. Jacob?" Jessica responds emotionlessly. He explains his task for her and her eyes grow wide. "Sorry, I'm a P.I., not a damn spy. I don't _do_ that shit."

"I'm just talking about digging up some dirt on my business competitor." He remains cool and collected. "You don't need to get involved beyond that."

"Look, I already told you- "

"-I will also make it more than worth your while," he adds.

Jessica hesitates. "How much?" He replies with his offer and her eyes widen again for a moment before returning to their normal state. "Fine. But I find evidence of criminal misconduct, I'm turning it over to the cops."

"No, you let me take care of that. I insist."

Suddenly suspicious, Jessica stiffens, but ultimately shakes it off. "Whatever," she says, proceeding to slam the phone down. She is about to begin working on the case when the door creaks open, revealing Malcolm. He enters with a small box in hand. Jessica eyes the package. "What the hell is that?"

"That Murdock guy came by while you were gone- said to give it to you," Malcolm explains, offering it to her across her desk.

Jessica grabs the box from his hand and opens the flaps as Malcolm watches in anticipation. She first removes a note that lies on top and raises it to her face. It reads:

 _Jess-_

 _Sorry about your other one. I hope this makes up for it._

 _-Matt_

Her face wrinkles in confusion as she lowers her hand, giving her a clear view of the item in the package. Confusion turns to shock when she sees what's inside. "Holy shit."

"What?" he implores, concerned by Jessica's reaction. She lifts the item out of the box and they are both in awe as they stare at a brand new, unopened camera. "That looks like a hell of a piece of equipment," he remarks.

"He's a hell of a guy," she mutters with a shake of her head. She clears her throat. "Unfortunately, I have some work to do before I can use this bad boy." Jessica sets the box down, returning her focus to her computer screen.

"Got a new case? What is it this time?" Malcolm rounds the corner of the desk and peers over her shoulder at the screen.

She remains glued to the screen. "Corporate espionage," she states flatly.

" _Excuse me?_ "

Crouched on a fire escape opposite that of the apartment of interest, Jessica, somewhat inebriated, peers through her new camera lens on a crisp New York night. A small group of men are gathered at a poker table, smoking cigars. She notices a large, bald man and pauses, squinting to try and get a better look. _Why does he look familiar?_ Unable to rectify the thought, she shakes it off and takes snaps throughout the night. Finally, she reaches for a beer bottle at her side, gulps down what's left, and tosses it away before jumping down to the ground below and returning to the cab waiting for her on the street. She opens the back door and is about to give the driver instructions when she pokes her head in and notices that he is abnormally still, his head slumped forward. "Hey," she says, trying to get his attention. when he doesn't answer, she nudges his shoulder with her hand. "Hey- c'mon, wake up." She nudges him a little too hard and his lifeless body keels over into the door, revealing a deep cut across his throat. "Holy shit!" The words come out as a loud whisper. She opens the driver's side door and gently moves the body to the back seat before sliding into driver's seat and slamming her foot on the gas. As she begins driving, Jessica cranks the radio up to calm her nerves and a reporter's voice streams out of the speakers, mid-sentence: "…have received confirmation of a mass prison break at Ryker's Island, including mobster Wilson Fisk."

Her face lights up in realization. "Holy-" In that moment, her body slams into the steering wheel, cutting her off and thrusting her into darkness.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a beeping monitor penetrates Jessica's subconscious. Her eyes flutter open and she blinks away the haze of deep sleep to reveal a hospital room. The fog still not fully clear, she is able to make out beige walls, the hospital bed on which she currently rests, and tubes protruding from her arm and nose. Pushing herself up, her gaze falls on a figure sitting in the far-left corner of the room clutching a long cane. "Murdock?" she says, groaning in pain and exhaustion. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey," he replies, rising from his seat and closing the distance between him and the bed. "Good to see you awake."

Jessica cocks an eyebrow. "Uh…"

"You know what I mean. So, how do you feel?"

"Oh, never better." Her voice drips with sarcasm; Matt snickers.

"Well, at least you're still yourself," he comments.

"Stop avoiding my question," Jessica prods, trying unsuccessfully to fight the fatigue. Why are you here?"

He hesitates and shifts his weight between his feet. "I just wanted to make sure you were OK."

"Mhm. Now what's the real reason?"

"No, it's true."

"I don't appreciate bullshit, Matt." Irritation is clear in her voice. "Jeri, sent you, didn't she? _Again_."

"OK- fine, fine," he begins, looking down and then up again. "You caught me. I wanted to give you time to recover before…"

Jessica narrows her eyes at him. "Before what?" He doesn't immediately respond, just exhales a deep breath of air. " _Matt_."

"You're under investigation."

"Oh, God," she laments, turning her head in the opposite direction, her hands gripping the bedrails. "How bad is it this time?"

"Second degree murder. That's on top of a possible vehicular manslaughter charge- the other driver didn't make it."

Her head jerks back in his direction. " _Oh_ my God…" Her hands fly up to her face, cradling her nose and cheeks, a finger smothering each duct in an attempt to suppress tears.

"Hey," Matt says softly, "the investigation is ongoing. There's nothing to worry about just yet."

Jessica lets her arms fall to her sides, giving up trying to fight the tears. "Except the fact that I killed a goddamn human being!" she shrieks.

"No- you made a mistake. Just- some mistakes are costlier than others. But I don't think you're a murderer. Despite being covered in the blood of one of the victims."

She looks away. "I might as well be."

"Jess, don't-" Matt pleads.

Still not looking at him, she states plainly "You can go now."

"OK. I wish you a speedy recovery." He leaves the room, resigned.

Two Weeks Later

The sun assaults Jessica's eyes as she strides out of the hospital doors into the stuffy New York air. She is greeted immediately by Matt Murdock, who falls into step beside her. "How are you feeling?" he asks earnestly.

"Super. What great news do you have for me today?" The usual sarcasm is ever-present.

"I just wanted to make sure you were OK to get home. And this time, that's the whole truth."

"Mhm," she says suspiciously, still maintaining a forward gaze. "You can play the nice little Catholic boy all you want, Murdock, but at the end of the day, you're only fooling yourself. And you can only do that for so long."

He touches his fingertips to his wristwatch. "Well, speaking of, I don't want to be late to Mass."

"Mind if I, uh, join you?" Jessica asks tentatively after a brief pause. The words stop Matt in his tracks, causing Jessica to follow suit.

He cocks an eyebrow suspiciously. "…For Church?"

Turning toward him, she crosses her arms and raises he eyebrows. "Would that be so terrible?"

"No, not at all," he assures her.

"Good. Then let's get going." They turn and continue walking; to Jessica's dismay, there is but a fleeting silence.

"So, when did you become a woman of faith?"

"I don't know…when did you become able to afford a $500 camera?"

"Touché," Matt says in defeat, cracking a wry smile. "And you're welcome."

Ignoring the comment, she continues. "Besides, we need to talk."


	2. Chapter 2: From the Ashes

Walking side-by-side out of the church doors, a long stick extends outward from Matt's hand to the ground, guiding him as Jessica stuffs her hands into her pockets. "I can see the appeal, you know?" she begins. "Of wanting to believe in a higher power." She pauses. "For me, it's just…it's really difficult."

"You've been through hell. No one could blame you," he sympathizes.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "You're no stranger to Hell yourself. I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"You know...'keep the faith'," she explains, contorting her voice to denote air quotes.

He sighs. "Not that I'm trying to convert you, Jess, but God can't save everyone. Sometimes you have to find the strength to save yourself." She considers the words until Matt interrupts her train of thought. "So, what was it that you wanted to talk about?" Just then, Jessica feels her phone vibrate and the two of them come to a halt. Slipping it out of her jean pocket, the color drains from her face when she sees the caller ID. "Hello?" she answers.

"Hello, I'm calling for Ms. Jessica Jones?" a gruff voice says questioningly on the other end of the line.

"Speaking." Despite her quickened pulse, her voice is as emotionless as ever. The man introduces himself as an officer with the NYPD. "What can I do for you, officer?" Matt's ears perk up at the words.

"We need to speak with you and your lawyer down at the station. Please come by at your earliest convenience," the officer instructs.

She looks at Matt with concern, her ear glued to the phone. "We're on our way."

Jessica saunters off and he follows behind her. He smirks to himself in realization. " _Hell_ \- I see what you did there."

* * *

At the nearby police department, Jessica and Matt are greeted warmly by the officer from the phone, who proceeds to hand over a plastic bag with items Jessica left behind at the scene of the accident. Mumbling her gratitude under her breath, she accepts the bag before turning and strutting out of the precinct with Matt by her side. Once outside, Jessica leans against the wall of the building near the entrance and he follows suit. A particular object in the bag catches her eye and she immediately removes it. "Thank God," she sighs.

"What is it?" Matt inquires, cocking an eyebrow.

"My camera."

"Everything still on there?"

"Looks like it," she confirms, scanning through pictures with the click of a button. She stops cold at a picture of a bald man with a larger-than-life presence.

The sudden silence is deafening to Matt. "What is it?"

Still staring at her camera, Jessica responds. "We never got to talk…" She tilts her head towards him without looking directly at him. "The night of the accident…I saw something, Murdock. Some _one_."

He jolts to attention, his gaze locked on her. "Who?" he presses.

"Please don't jump on me for not telling you sooner-" she starts.

" _Jessica_." His waning patience was growing ever clearer.

"Fisk," she relents. "I saw Wilson Fisk."

Jessica had never seen blood drain out of someone's face so fast. Seemingly just as fast, her forearm finds itself in Matt's tight grip. " _Where?_ Where is he? _Tell me_ ," he growls in desperation.

His words send a chill through her. "I can't do that."

" _Why not?_ " he grumbles, teeth gritted.

"Because I get the feeling that you're motivated by revenge, not justice."

"Rich, coming from you." Jessica ignores this, and silence follows. Matt's hand tightens around his long stick. "Tell me. _Please_."

"I'm not about to serve Fisk up to you on a platter just for you to do something you'll regret," she says defiantly.

"Fine." He releases his grip on Jessica. "I'll find him myself." With that, he disappears down the street at a brisk pace. Unfazed, she pushes off the wall and back through the doors of the police department, mumbling an obscenity under her breath.

* * *

Armed with names, Jessica throws open the door to her apartment and opens her laptop. The only thing she could think to do after Murdock left was to find out if there were any other suspects in the cab driver's murder. Both the officer she had interacted with and the lead detective on the case refused to budge; she even tried to explain that she is a P.I. In the end, all they would offer her was the identities of the deceased. She types in the first name- that of the taxi driver- into Google. Five pages' worth of search results later, it's clear that it's a dead end. She murmurs "goddamit" and immediately moves on the second name.

It again looks to be a dead end, until Jessica stumbles onto an article on the third page of search results. From the New York Post, the article briefly describes a charity fundraiser, which is followed by a couple of pictures of attendees. The first is of no consequence, but the second shows a familiar face. Next to the driver of the other car in the crash is one Richard Jacob, Jessica's latest client. She reads the caption and her breath catches when she reaches the end. '…and Richard Fisk of R. F. Inc.' Her eyes go wide. " _Shit!_ "

Another quick search provides an address for the business, and without a moment's hesitation, she's out the door once more.

* * *

Jessica jumps out of a taxi and shoves her way through the doors of a glossy New York high-rise reminiscent of that of the former Hand headquarters. She addresses the unaware receptionist rather harshly. "Richard Fisk- what floor?" she demands.

The receptionist's head flies up, startled. "He's on nine, but-" Jessica pays her no mind, immediately dashing into the nearest elevator. After an eternity of waiting, the elevator doors open to reveal another receptionist and a door behind her with a nameplate reading _R. Fisk_. This receptionist greets her, but Jessica ignores her altogether, flying straight past. She barrels through the door and sees the man himself in a large, black swivel chair behind his desk. The perimeter of the room is lined with desk-high bookcases, the walls covered with golf artwork and certificates. Without stopping, she moves on him and shoves against the wall. "Richard Fisk, I want answers and you are _going_ to give them to me. Right now."


	3. Chapter 3: Crossroads

Jessica's eyes bore into Richard Fisk's face. One hand grips each side of his collar, pressing his body against the wall of his office. He snickers at her and she slams him against the wall. He moans in pain. She regards him with an icy tone. "Start talking."

"What do you want to know?" he chokes out.

"I want to know why the hell you hired me," she snaps.

"Simple. You're exceptional at what you do."

Jessica narrows her eyes suspiciously when a _buzz_ fills the room from inside her pocket. She removes her phone and answers it with her eyes still locked on Fisk. "Whoever this is, this isn't a good time."

"This'll only take a second; it's important," Matt Murdock's voice replies.

The muscles in Jessica's face soften briefly and she turns away to speak. " _Where are you?_ " she whispers.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that the police have cleared you of vehicular manslaughter and the charge has been dropped," he explains. "Apparently, the other driver caused the accident."

Jessica exhales. "Great, one murder charge down, one to go."

"Yeah, well, it's a good start, right? Gotta go."

"Wait, wh-" She barely gets a word out before getting cut off. "Dammit," she mutters. She turns her glare back to Fisk. "The Kingpin- where is he?'

"I have no idea. My father and I don't speak."

"And I suppose the cab I was driving _happened_ to get rammed by a guy who worked for you?" Jessica continues, pursing her lips.

"An insurance policy. You understand," he says in a strained voice.

"That was one effective insurance policy," she retorts. "Why would you even need one, anyway?" Suddenly, her mind wanders to that night and the moment she saw Wilson Fisk through the window. Richard's words about his father replay in her head. Her eyes widen. "You _son of a bitch_. Were you using me in an _assassination_ plot?"

"I'm impressed, Ms. Jones." Just then, a sucker punch catches Jessica off-guard and she falls backward, releasing her grip. "Unfortunately, you're too perceptive for your own good." As if on cue, the door flies open, and four security guards fill the room.

Scrambling to her feet, Jessica looks from the guards to Fisk breathlessly. "You don't want to do this."

Fisk nods at the guards. "Gentlemen."

Jessica readies herself and shakes her head. "I warned you."

* * *

Minutes later, the four security guards are lying crumpled on the ground, writhing in pain. "Where is he?" she snaps, whirling on Richard, lip and knuckles bloodied.

"I beg your pardon?" he responds, feigning ignorance.

"Don't bullshit me. You may not be on speaking terms with your father, but you knew to send to that apa-" A lightbulb blazes to life in Jessica's head. "That apartment- is he still there?" Fisk's lips tighten and the corner of his mouth twitches, but the rest of his face reveals little. For Jessica, it says all that she needs to know.

* * *

Propelling herself from rooftop to rooftop, Jessica scans the night sky for the apartment building from the stakeout. An hour later, after struggling to get her bearings, she spots the apartment across the way. She springs down to the ground and is about to hurry up the fire escape when she stops dead in her tracks. A trail of blood leads down the escape toward the back of the building. She steels herself and follows it out back to see an unconscious, costumed Matt Murdock in a puddle of blood.

" _Shit!_ " she cries out in a hushed voice. She rushes over and falls to her knees beside him. "Wake up, wake up," she pleads, shaking him in desperation. "Please wake up." Finally, he rouses to life with a spasm of coughs. "Thank God," Jessica exhales.

"Jessica…" Matt strains.

Her face scrunches in confusion. "What?"

"…Look out…" But it's too late; a blade penetrates the side of her abdomen. She collapses backwards with a groan, revealing Elektra grasping two halves of a Wakizashi. She drops the blades with a _clang_ , kneeling at Matt's side.

"Matthew…I thought I'd lost you…" Elektra murmurs.

"Elektra- why are you doing this? he coughs.

"Because I've missed you so. Haven't you missed me?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"Only if you make it so. We can end this foolishness and move forward." She pauses, then adds "Together."

Beaten and bloodied, Matt thrusts his torso upward while applying pressure to a gash just below his heart. "No. You're wrong," he begins. "You may be Elektra _now_ , but the tiniest thing- the smallest provocation- could trigger you. And just like that, you're the Black Sky again."

Now becoming desperate and agitated, Elektra's tone changes from comforting to frustrated. "That's not true," she implores. "I've changed."

"I can't trust that. We don't know what we're dealing with here." He takes a breath. "The risk is too great. I'm sorry," he laments.

"No, I'm sorry," Elektra counters, wrapping Matt in an embrace. "I so wish I didn't have to do this." Elektra grasps one half of the Wakizashi at her side and raises it to deliver the death blow, when she is struck by a piercing pain. She cries out in agony and crumples, lifeless, to the ground. Standing over Elektra's body is Jessica, the other half of the Wakizashi in hand.

"Careful what you wish for," she quips, staring at the body.

"Elektra?" Matt's voice shakes. When he is met with silence, he directs his next question to Jessica. "Did she- is she dead?"

Jessica answers through deep breaths. "I'm sorry. She was going to kill you." Clutching her stomach, she tosses the blade to the ground and keels over, landing at Matt's side.

"It's OK," he assures her. "It's OK, just stay with me."

"Just forget it, OK? I'm not gonna make it."

"Please, Jess…you can't stop fighting," he implores, hand on her shoulder.

"Matt, let it go. You don't have to pretend to care," she quibbles.

"Maybe I'm not."

She scoffs. "Well…you said it yourself- you have a soft spot for hopeless causes."

"That's true," he admits. "But you were never that."

Together, they fade out of consciousness to the sound of footsteps and a familiar woman's voice.

* * *

The next morning, Jessica's eyes flutter open to be greeted by one Claire Temple at the foot of her hospital bed. Once again, she is surrounded by sterile beige walls and a tube protrudes from her hand. "You texted me just in time," Claire tells her. "You were bleeding out pretty bad. Matt, too."

"Is he gonna be OK?" Jessica inquires urgently, lifting her head.

Claire's eyes droop with sadness. "I don't know."

"When can I see him?"

"After you get some rest," Claire orders. "The next time you're conscious, he should be, too."

Jessica's head collapses back onto the pillow with a sigh and her eyes close once more.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Jessica stands outside Matt's door after receiving his room number from Claire. She exhales, quietly entering the room. He is awake and alert when Jessica takes a seat on the near side of the bed. "So, are you in as much pain as I am?" she grumbles.

"Depends," he moans. "Do you hurt like hell? If so…then yes."

She nods in agreement. "Well…I'm just glad you're alive."

"It's OK, Jess." He chuckles to himself and continues, his voice taking on a teasing tone. "You don't have to _pretend_ to care."

Her eyes impulsively narrow at him in disdain, but her expression quickly softens. She rests her palm on his hand and wraps her fingers around the inside. Matt reacts by folding his fingers over hers. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile.

Jessica looks at him with resignation. "Maybe I'm not."


End file.
